


Le Génie du Mal

by curiumKingyo



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Age Swap, Artist Connor, M/M, Young Hank, human!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 19:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16960050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiumKingyo/pseuds/curiumKingyo
Summary: Connor is a middle-aged artist in a creative crisis, Hank is broken and could use some extra money.(Can I make it any more obvious?)





	Le Génie du Mal

**Author's Note:**

> [rile_sumo](https://twitter.com/rile_sumo) commented on Twitter that the statue 'Le Génie du Mal' looks a lot like a young Clancy Brown and I felt compelled to write an age swap artist Connor and model Hank fic.

You don't need to be a fan of fine arts to know who Connor Arkay is, you just need to be from Detroit. For more than three decades he has been commissioned to create statues and monuments, embellish the gardens and fronts of private and public buildings and bridges, there is even a square with his name downtown. Fine arts students make “the Arkay Path” going around the city to visit the most famous pieces.

For years the Arkay Path was updated two or three times a year, with new attractions being added and ones that had fallen out of importance being removed. It has been five years since the last update, though. Connor sometimes shows up at the Fine arts School for some fundraiser event or special lecture, but he has completely stopped producing new art and it is only his remarkable past and the careful meddling of his brother and agent, Niles Arkay, that keeps his relevance fresh.

Reaching Connor is hard, almost impossible, even for people relatively close to him. That's why Markus Manfred, dean of the Fine Arts School and Connor's personal friend, calls Niles when he needs to reach him. Markus’ father, Carl, had been Connor's tutor for many years and one of the main responsible for his deep love for art. Carl had passed away ten years ago and the school board wants to celebrate his life and work naming the school library after him and they want a new central piece to decorate the place.

Markus explains what they want and why he insists on having Connor make the project. Niles immediately buys the idea, he too has studied at the Fine Arts School and it would mean a lot for him if Connor accepted to take part in such a special moment on the school's history. He promises Markus he will do his best to convince Connor but both of them know sometimes this isn't enough.

Connor has stopped accepting commissions five years ago after his last project caused him so much frustration and stress that he ended up on hospital with an ulcer. The project was simple enough in theory but a mix of a terrible client that kept changing their mind and unhelpful models made him give up the piece before he finished. Niles had to complete the project, a secret known only by the Arkay brothers.

The piece is bland at best and was only included on the Connor Path because it was the last, otherwise, it lacks any of the attractiveness of an Arkay piece.

Connor has never stopped making art, however. In the numerous rooms and halls of the house he shares with Niles he keeps studios and workshops and working spaces for a variety of mediums and purposes. Connor needs to create in order to feel alive, in order to feel anything. He experiences the world through his work, sees better the paintings than the people, feels better the marble than the flesh. After the disaster of the last commission, he withdrew into his own little world, rarely venturing out or letting anyone in.

He doesn't sell nor show these pieces. Each one is too close to his chest to let go, the house slowly turning into an overflowing museum for no one's eyes.

Connor is in one of the Studios when Niles comes to talk to him about Markus’ request.

“Markus called,” Niles says and Connor's only reply is a millimetric shift on his eyebrow. Niles may have Connor's attention but that doesn't mean the conversation will be easy. “There is a big project on the School and he wants you to take part in it.”

“He knows I'm not taking commissions anymore,” Connor replies dryly.

“This one is important,” insists Niles. “Did you notice this year is the ten years anniversary of Carl's passing?”

The comment gives Connor pause. He lowers his brush slowly, eyes finally leaving the canvas to meet his brother. When has Niles become so sentimental?

“Is it relevant to the project?”

“It is the whole reason for it,” Niles says, walking a circle around Connor to look at the canvas he is currently working on. “The School board wants to rename the library after Carl, and Markus wants you to make the centerpiece for it. This is beautiful,” Niles comments when he has a full view of Connor's work.

The canvas is covered in irregular shapes of contrasting colors but in their irregularity, Niles finds familiar images - the bushes of flowers on the square they used to play as kids, the cake they ate on their birthday, the cat Connor adopted when they first moved out of their childhood house. Niles’ hand lands, soft and familiar on Connor’s shoulder. He knocks his head against Connor’s.

“Why me? Markus is as able as I to do it.”

“Did I tell you what Markus wants for the piece?” Connor makes a small questioning noise as a reply and Niles smirks before speaking. “Lucifer.”

“Lucifer?” Connor turns his head to face Niles, a confused twist on his eyebrows.

“Many people called him a traitor when he left the gilded corridors of the academy to walk the halls of the public schools,” Niles says, Markus’ reasoning echoing through him. “He was called Lucifer for this, for having abandoned the heavens to share his gifts with the peasants. You are his most celebrated pupil, the proof that he was right looking for talent outside the high society. It would mean a lot to him if you did it. It will mean a lot to Markus,” he hesitates, but gets some confidence when he looks at the canvas full of their memories, “and to me.”

Connor’s eyes get lost on the canvas as well. Carl had given him and Niles a chance at life, taught them, mentored them, gave them the tools and the means to build a comfortable and beautiful life. Carl’s passing had been a hard blow for Connor and he went on a deep art block for months after it. He knows Carl had gotten into many fights among the art elite when he started the Jericho Project to find new artists and he had never really shown him how grateful he was.

A posthumous homage is the best he can do.

“I will do it,” he says, resolute but soft-voiced. Niles smiles.

“Markus has a model in mind,” he informs. “May I call him here tomorrow?”

Connor nods and silently picks up his brush once more. Niles leaves him, knowing that his mind is already swirling with ideas for the project. Connor has not made art for the public eye in years but Niles trusts his old instincts. The emotional appeal of the project is something that Connor can connect to and fuel his inspiration to make an outstanding piece.

The next afternoon is a warm, sunny day, but there are distant clouds marring the horizon. When the doorbell rings Niles welcomes Markus and his chosen model and directs them to the studio Connor has prepared to receive the project.

Niles takes the model to take a look around the studio while Markus talks to Connor about the project. They discuss the quality of the marble, size, deadline and other details of Markus’ vision for the statue. Markus excuses himself after he and Connor finish their talk, Niles leaves as well to tend to other matters, leaving Connor alone with the model in the studio.

“My name is Connor,” he extends his hand and introduces himself, however redundant it is. “I am the artist commissioned by Markus. What is your name?”

“Taylor,” the model replies and takes Connor’s hand in a limp and weak handshake. Connor has to fight the urge to cringe in reply.

Taylor is young, lean and graceful with big eyes and short brown hair. He moves with a liquid slowness that although beautiful is a little irritating. It looks like he wouldn’t be able to move fast even if his life depended on it.

“Have you modeled before?”

“Only for life drawing classes,” Taylor says, in an even voice as he sweeps his gaze around the studio. “This is the first time I model for sculpting.”

“I won’t start the sculpture today,” Connor informs him. “First I need to make some sketches and studies. I’d like you to take off your clothes and sit on that stool, please. You can put your clothes there,” Connor points to a clean shelf by the door and then to the stool standing on a raised dais in the center of the studio.

Silently, Taylor does as he is told. He pads across the room to remove his clothes and then sits down on the stool with his underwater grace. Connor has prepared an easel with a big pad of paper and numerous drawing materials: pencils, charcoal, sanguine, graphite, and many more. He likes to experience the full range of possibilities while working and even if the final product will be carved on marble these first studies always prove very important to him.

“Cross your ankles on the lower bar of the stool, please, and lean back a little more,” Connor instructs Taylor, fingers absentmindedly running over the materials waiting on the tray under the easel.

Taylor leans back, one arm supporting him on the edge of the stool, the other thrown over his bare legs. It is a beautiful pose, show some pensiveness, a touch of contrition. Connor selects a long piece of charcoal and starts to define the basic shapes of the body on the paper in front of him. The slope of the back, the angle of the legs, the delicate profile.

The more Connor works the less he feels. Taylor is beautiful but there is a distinct lack of… something in him. There is no substance to him, no fire, no intensity. If Markus had commissioned a water nymph Taylor would be the perfect model, all languid lines and slow eyes, but there is nothing on him that brings Lucifer to Connor’s mind.

He continues working, though. He hates failing more than almost anything and this project holds a special place in his heart. For more than one hour he continues sketching, asking Taylor to change poses, to add props and objects to the composition, to give his opinions on the piece. Taylor doesn’t give any, he claims he doesn’t know art enough, that he is merely a model and that Connor is the one supposed to know what to do.

This is the last straw.

“Niles will show you the door after you finish getting dressed,” he says, dry and short, before forcefully flipping the drawing pad closed and leaving the studio with loud steps.

Niles is working on the living room, a pile of catalogs and samples on each side of his laptop. When Connor erupts from the hallway with an angry blush to his face and eyebrows drawn low Niles immediately understands the situation. He had had an ill feeling towards Taylor, not that there were any problems with the young man himself, but Niles felt that Connor would have a problem with him.

Connor’s work stems from the narrow and hard place between his control freak nature and his necessity to be pushed and pulled around by others. Taylor doesn’t look like the kind that pulls and pushes, which would be considered a noteworthy quality for most artists but is actually a flaw in Connor’s book.

“Should I show him the way out?” Niles asks, eyes still fixed on the screen.

“If he ever moves out of the studio by himself, yes!” Connor exclaims, throwing his hands in the air in an overly dramatic gesture. Niles smirks but says nothing. He watches with the corner of his eye as Connor roams the room for a few seconds before he leaves the house, dramatically shutting the door behind his heels.

Connor had never asked to have a square named after him. He finds it campy and even a little embarrassing but he can’t deny how much he likes the Connor Arkay Square. By sheer coincidence, it is within walking distance of his house and it is one of his favorite places in Detroit. The landscaping crew did a marvelous job of enhancing the structures he designed around the square, there are a number of flower bushes and tall trees that make the square a fresh and perfumed sanctuary in the middle of an otherwise chaotic area of the city.

His hands are shaking slightly as he briskly walks down the cobblestone paths, too nervous to pay attention to the blooming flowers or nesting birds.

He shouldn’t have accepted the job. Markus would understand if he had said no - he is the most understanding person Connor knows and has dealt with many of Connor’s temper tantrums and nervous crisis. Going out of his self-imposed retirement was a mistake and he can only blame his own sentimentalism for it. Why did Markus even chose that boy for modeling the piece? Usually, he has much more fine-tuned tastes, Connor thinks resentfully.

Connor walks around the perimeter of the square, consumed by his fear of failure and the bitterness of having his first effort in such a long time being a huge waste of everyone’s time. He winds down one of the secondary paths and stops when he arrives at the central area of the square.

The structure at the center of the square is the first stop on the Arkay Path. It is a series of interconnected pieces of iron, marble, stone, wood, and copper, together they create a dome that offers shade to a collection of benches installed around a circular garden.

The evening sun catches on the edges of the structure, it gleams on the metallic parts and makes the marble shine a glittery white. It is the ideal composition, Connor thinks as he stops fuming for the first time since he left the studio. There are long shadows across the ground, crisscrossing the grass and cobblestone, creating patterns on the floor. Connor takes a deep breath, tries his best to clear his mind. Maybe there is something to be done about it. Markus could find another artist, or another model, or another concept for his piece. He could go back to the studio and forcefully carve out some Lucifer-esque character out of Taylor’s beautifully bland figure. Maybe it’s salvageable.

Absorbed in his thoughts, Connor follows one of the spindly shadows on the floor until he ends up in one of the benches under the dome. He sits on it, both feet firmly planted on the ground, his polished steel-toe boots reflecting some of the yellow light of the sun. The benches are comfortable, he made sure to design them so. There are a few people around, walking dogs, playing with children, enjoying the evening with friends on the benches or sitting cross-legged on the grass.

Connor allows his eyes to roam the scenery unhurriedly. He suddenly realizes that he had been hidden away at home for too long, he can’t remember the last time he had gone out to walk or relax. Under the warm sun, things don’t seem so hopeless. Everything can be dealt with, he can fix it as long as he allows himself time and space to figure things out. The easiest solution is to change the model, he thinks. He hadn’t asked Markus about Taylor, he doesn’t know what is their relationship or why Markus chose him or what would he do if Connor asked him to be replaced.

Maybe if Connor found a best-suited model before broaching the subject it would be easier to convince Markus. Connor doesn’t know how to do it, though. Surely if he put a note on the board at the fine arts school many people would rush in trying to model for him, but he doesn’t want it. The filter and trial process is long and tedious and he knows that there is just so much frustration he can handle before having another emotional crisis.

He could ask Niles to do this for him. Niles’ sensibilities are very attuned to Connor’s, a direct result of being raised and educated together all their lives. Connor feels like Niles would be willing to help and it wouldn't be difficult for him to do it. He has been working as a Marchand for many years and is in touch with many artists that would be delighted to help.

No. This won’t do either. Connor appreciates Niles’ efforts to keep his work valuable and relevant and he trusts his brother’s tastes but this project is a little too personal. He knows how much Carl means to Niles but this is Connor’s chance of showing his appreciation and love for their old mentor.

Connor’s fingers begin to itch and he suddenly craves a cigarette. He is not a heavy smoker and sometimes goes weeks, even months, without a single cigarette but right now he really could use one. He taps his pockets, knowing full well that they are empty. He hadn’t considered the possibility of smoking when he left home like the prima donna Niles constantly accuses him of being. He doesn’t even have his wallet on him to buy a pack, which aggravates him to no end.

Suddenly a flicker of orange light catches his attention. He turns around and sees a man sitting on the bench right beside him. The man is leaning slightly forward on the bench, one elbow resting on a bent knee, the other incredibly long leg is extended in front of him. He has a cigarette held between his lips and he is pocketing a crumpled pack and a lighter.

“Excuse me,” Connor says, taking a step in the man’s direction before he can really think about it.

The man looks up at him. He has a strong nose, deep-set eyes of a startling blue and a mass of pale blonde curls framing his strong jaw. A classic beauty. The beauty of a Roman general or a Greek deity - or a fallen angel doomed to the flames of hell. The man takes a drag of his cigarette before taking it out of his mouth, holding it between thick fingers. He blows the smoke with a curious tilt on his eyebrow, waiting for the rest of Connor’s line.

Connor had fully intended on politely asking the man for a cigarette. He had the words on the tip of his tongue. A cigarette is what he needs at that moment and all it takes is a look to the stranger’s face as he curiously regards Connor for another, completely new sentence, to escape Connor’s lips.

“Will you model for me, please?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/curiumkingyo) and if you are feeling generous, take a look at my [Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/O5O8K6GJ#) too <3


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